Territories Familiar and Unknown
by Duckie Nicks
Summary: After Cuddy has a date, House begins to confront his own feelings for her. But it’s still not love, even if it is so easy to end up in bed together. Written for Cuddy Fest. One shot, Huddy, rated M for sex. Slight spoilers for season 5.


Author's Note: This fic was originally written for Cuddy Fest on Livejournal. The prompt I took was number 113 – House loves his control over her, especially in the bedroom. This fic does contain very small spoilers for season five as well as sex. If that doesn't interest you, turn away now.

_Disclaimer: I don't own the show. _

**Territories Familiar and Unknown  
**_By Duckie Nicks_

This is how he finds her after her date: sitting cross-legged on girly yellow sheets with stacks of files around her and a pen in between her teeth. Thin wire-rimmed glasses are perched precariously on the bridge of her nose. Her dark curls pulled away from her pale, make-up-free face in a messy bun, Cuddy's clearly not expecting any company later tonight.

And that means the date with Inspector Clouseau has been a bust.

So really, he thinks, showing up here unannounced and breaking in with a file he forged earlier in the day was pointless. Leaning against the frame of her bedroom door, watching her, House tells himself he should learn to trust Cuddy's innate ability at screwing up relationships.

Of course, it's hard for him to rely on something he can't understand.

Well, he thinks almost immediately, that's not _entirely_ true. Cuddy was annoying with her whole you're-not-allowed-to-experiment-on-patients outlook on life, but clearly that wouldn't come up on a date, he thinks. And even if it _did_, surely her tits and ass made up for that, House reasons.

As if to prove his point, his gaze instinctively trails downward from her face to her chest. The fun bags are looking extra fun tonight, he thinks. The thin, clingy, white tank top leaves little to the imagination. And House enjoys that particular fact a lot.

_A lot. _

Tiny straps holding everything in place, it wouldn't take much for one of her delectable C cups to spill out.

And as it is, House is sure he can make out the top outline of a nipple; the tight, rosy bud just beginning to peak out of the white lace lining the top of Cuddy's shirt, it's a tantalizing sight.

His mouth goes dry as he thinks about just how _easy_ it would be to rip through the delicate straps of the tank top…

Standing there without any concern that she might catch him, he thinks about what it would be like to watch her breasts tumble out. Thinks about how nice it would be to take them in his hands and –

This has to stop, House tells himself, derailing the train of thought before all the blood successfully reaches his dick and balls and he's unable to move.

Clearing his throat, House announces his presence. "Paperwork after a date?" He tries to act surprised at this, noting that Cuddy, who looks up tiredly at him, _isn't_ surprised to see him. "What – Inspector Gadget not work out?"

Not moving, she returns to her files. "Things went fine," she tells him curtly.

"_Right_. Good dates _always_ end with masturbation, sweatpants, and pencil pushing." As he casually strolls over to her bureau, he adds as an afterthought, "And that last one isn't a euphemism for sex."

Making a note on the pad of paper in front of her, Cuddy replies, "It's not always about sex."

He scoffs loudly at the idea. Sometimes, he thinks, Cuddy's more naïve than Cameron. And rolling his eyes, House turns and says, "Not about – _of course_ it's about sex! Why else would you stuff your breasts into a top _way_ too revealing for a first date?" He watches her carefully as he slyly opens the drawer he knows contains her underwear. The sound of the wood sliding is a slight one but one House suspects she can hear nonetheless.

But just as he's about to put on his "oops, how did that open itself" innocent face, he realizes she's not looking at him. In fact, she doesn't seem to notice anything but her paperwork. "All right," Cuddy concedes belatedly, still not paying attention to the drawer with her thongs wide open. "It's about sex."

She finally does glance at him then. Her blue eyes quickly assess the situation with a smirk on her face. But if she's pissed that he's in her panty drawer, she doesn't say it. And that leaves House confused.

Under normal circumstances, he envisions her red-faced and furious when she realizes what he's doing, because there's no way she would let him do what he's doing. Actually, he realizes – under _normal_ circumstances, she would have been livid just at the sight of him in her house uninvited.

Which makes her blasé attitude interesting, he thinks, his eyes narrowing on her for a moment. He takes a minute to consider her; granted, she's distracted with work, but… since when has that ever stopped her from yelling at him?

He supposes it could be a family problem, something outside of work. But House still doubts that would keep her _this_ quiet. And really, given the timing, he's sure that her silence has everything to do with her little _date_.

Things must have gone worse than he said they would, and that pleases him, as ugly as that fact is. Because, in all honesty, he likes being right about the men Cuddy chooses to date (it makes the jokes all the more easy to come up with, after all). And besides, if it means she doesn't object to him rummaging through her stuff, then he's not about to get pissy over the situation.

Maybe if he were a nice guy, House realizes, he wouldn't take advantage of Cuddy's current mood. But he's _not_ nice, and he's definitely _not_ insane enough to pass up an opportunity like this.

So let the panty raid commence, he announces in his head cheerfully.

His fingers almost reverently touching each pair, he goes through the drawer slowly. There's absolutely _no_ reason to rush through it. His hand runs along a black lacy thong, and he tries to no avail to keep himself from lingering on the mental picture of Cuddy in it.

The material delicately hugging her hips, the curves of her ass neatly on display, the floral lace just revealing enough for him to make out her plump, soft lips and wet slit…

He blinks, forcing the image away, and shoves the pair aside.

In that instant, he's not sure he really likes Cuddy's shift in personality; it's making him realize how… _completely_ fuckable she is, and that's _awesome_ when he's in the shower. But as it is, he doesn't know if he'll be able to ride his motorcycle home if his mind keeps thinking about her body.

So he decides to distract himself by figuring out just how far he can push her before she freaks out. As he tosses aside a pair of bland white panties, House returns to the conversation they were having moments previously. "It really_ is_ all about the sex," he tells her, cocking his head in her direction.

"I agree."

"_No_, you don't," he argues back.

Cuddy stops what she's doing and looks up at him. Curiosity and disbelief woven into each word, she says, "Are you –" She shakes her head and starts over, "I'm _agreeing_ with you, House. Why do you have a problem with that?"

He sidesteps the question and instead pulls one of the thongs out of her drawer. Using the elastic in the flimsy, midnight blue material as a slingshot, House shoots the pair of panties over towards her. As the underwear hits her in the shoulder, he tells her, "You should wear those tomorrow."

"Yeah, all right," Cuddy tells him dryly. There's not even a hint of annoyance in her voice or body language.

Not getting the reaction he wants, House decides to push further. "I mean it. Tomorrow, I'll be the school principal, and you can be the slutty school girl who likes to wear her skirts just a little too short to pass the dress code." She smirks at him, and House pushes some more. "Of course, I'll be making sure you've _really_ earned that soiled reputation."

He waggles his eyebrows suggestively at her. "What do you think – should I bend you over your desk and hike up your skirt to see if you're wearing those just for me?" His voice is as low and smooth as he can make it.

But if he's going for provocative, he's obviously failed, because her response is a shrug. "Okay… of course, I do have a meeting at ten with the oncology department, so you'll have to do it before or after." There's something almost _genuine_ about her voice; if she's faking this, then she's clearly gotten better in the lying department. Innocently, she adds, "Unless you want Wilson to see." She offers him a small smile.

In the back of his mind, he thinks he should be enjoying her passiveness. Every single day at work, he fights for control over the situation. Not just for diagnoses, but for respect and attention – and yeah, House spends a lot of time trying to control just how much his dick _loves_ her body.

Arguing with her is how he spends most of his days. And he thinks he _should_ be enjoying the offer she's agreeing to. But, instead of being absolutely turned on by her accord, he actually kind of hates her in that moment. She's not supposed to ruin his fun, and somehow he feels like she's doing that, even if he can't really articulate why. Potential nudity and schoolgirl fantasy aside, she's _ruining_ it by being so cooperative.

Frowning deeply, House watches as she gets off of her bed.

Ignoring him, Cuddy diligently begins to clean the files off of her bed. Some of the papers tucked neatly into a nearby briefcase, others are dropped into her trashcan. And he can't help but impatiently watch her _tidy up_ in the vain hope that she'll suddenly revert to the infuriatingly annoying opponent he has come to know her to be.

But instead, she tells him, as she walks by him, "I'm going to bed. Make sure you turn off the lights and lock the door when you grow tired of playing with my clothes."

His mouth goes slightly agape as he realizes she's _not_ kicking him out. And somehow, maybe ironically, this is the last straw for him.

Dumbfounded and irritated, he's had enough of whatever the hell this is. As she begins to silently pull back the sheets, he asks, a hand thrown in the air in frustration, "What the hell is this?"

"What?" she asks innocently, spinning around to look at him.

"Oh, don't give me _that,_" he snipes, waving her off. "You _know_ what." When she offers no defense or explanation, House says loudly, "You're _agreeing_ with me on every little thing."

"And that's a problem?" She asks, folding her arms across her chest in a way that accentuates her cleavage.

"You're _boring_ me," he nearly whines, pushing his cane aside so that it rests against her dresser.

Giving him a cool smile, Cuddy suggests, "Then go home, House."

And there it is, her reason for behaving this way, he thinks, a wolfish smile tugging at his lips.

She _has _gotten better at lying and plotting – but not good enough to_ ever_ outdo him.

"So that's your plan?" he asks, not nearly as impressed as she probably wants him to be. "Agree with everything I say so that I get bored and go home?"

"It's working, isn't it?"

His response is a petulant, "_No_."

"Well, I think it is. Because you _thrive_ on conflict," she retorts.

"I do not!" he mockingly argues back.

She smirks at the dramatic behavior. But despite being amused, Cuddy still makes accusations. "_You_ are here to annoy me into abandoning all hope of having a personal life."

And House can't help but cock an eyebrow at the allegation. In all honesty, he's not entirely sure he's _against_ her having a life outside of work. Unlike with Wilson, he doesn't _do things_ with Cuddy, so it's not like he'd really have to… _share_ her with someone else. Even if he did, House can see where that might be a good thing. After all, if she's out on a date or spending time with Mr. Right, she can't be at the hospital performing her doc-blocking duties.

"Actually," he says arrogantly, correcting her. "I just want to annoy you. What that causes you to have – or _not _have – isn't all that interesting to me."

Cuddy shoots him a look of disbelief. But he's in no mood to try and convince her of anything. So he keeps his mouth shut.

"Either way," she tells him. "You are _not_ going to get to me. Not after that _horrible_ date I –"

"You said the date went well," House reminds her, accusation in his tones.

Her response is a clipped, "I lied."

"Obviously."

Turning back toward the bed, Cuddy says, "I'm _not_ going to get in this habit with you, House." Her hands shove the rest of the sheets down to the foot of the mattress. "I don't want to end every single one of my dates with _you_." The words aren't said particularly harshly, but he feels a slight – _very slight_ – pang nonetheless. "So I'm just going to agree with you and do _whatever_ you want now," she explains. "Because at some point, you will get bored and move on to some other toy, and I will _finally_ be able to have a _normal_ date."

At first glance, he can see why she might believe things would go that simply; there's not much he hates more than the uninteresting. And if she's boring, then it makes sense that he would leave.

But… that's not what's going to happen, now. He can tell that much. Because her words have intrigued him too much.

She said she'd do whatever he wanted.

And now House is curious.

Just how far can he push her before she says no?

Sure, she agreed to him looking at her thong tomorrow at work. But he realizes that was only done to get him to leave. And tomorrow she'll deny the whole thing, and nothing will happen.

So really the only option left is to see how much he can get from her _now_.

"So you're just gonna agree with me, no matter what I say?" he asks… just to make sure. It sounds too good to be true, and he wants to make sure he has the ground rules right.

"If it'll make you leave, absolutely," she tells him enthusiastically.

Joy – or as close as he can come to feeling that – wells up inside of him at the realization.

This is gonna be fun, he thinks. He may not be able to get her to do _anything_ he wants, but still… there are so many things he probably _can_ get from her. And he can almost hardly believe that he was _annoyed_ with her earlier; how could he ever doubt the fun to be had in controlling her?

"So then… you're going to agree that I am your _best_ employee ever, right?" It's not the best question to ask, he knows. But he figures he should start small, see where it goes.

With effort, Cuddy nods her head. "Yes."

He takes a small step closer to her and thinks of something completely random to ask her. "And Lee Meriwether was _totally_ the sexiest Catwoman, right?"

She seems a little taken a back, surprised by the question. "Sure, House," she answers before sitting down on the bed. Her body shifts around on the bed until her back is resting against the headboard. Tiredly, Cuddy asks him, "How much more are you planning on asking me?"

"I don't know," he tells her honestly, moving towards the side of bed and standing next to her. "Am I boring you?"

She looks up at him, a glint in her blue eyes. A catty grin on her face, she answers, "Yes."

"But this is so much fun," House says, only partly kidding.

And yet, he thinks, if she wants things to be more exciting, he can do that. "So if you agree with everything I say, then you're going to tell me I'm right when I accuse you of masturbating to the image of Kutner blowing Taub, aren't you?"

She laughs then, freely and loudly. Her chuckle so rare at work, it is completely foreign to him and _completely_ sexy. The way she's neatly laid out on the bed for him, the way she seems so… _loose_ in that moment – it's the opposite of what he's used to.

But at the same time, he vaguely remembers that this is how she used to be. Her body's older, thinner, and _hotter _now, but House begins to recall that she used to be like this when he first met her. Time and space forgotten, he knows what this is going to lead to.

He can feel his desire churning inside of him, and in this particular instant, he has no interest in holding back.

Her laugh infusing every tone, Cuddy says, "Yeah. That's _exactly_ what I get off on."

"Can I get that in writing?" Casually, House sits down on the edge of the bed then, using the question as cover.

But the small sliver of space next to her hips is _definitely_ not enough room to be comfortable. The awkward way he's sitting makes any hope of her not noticing disappear. And just as House debates whether to stand back up or do something else, Cuddy makes the decision for him. Scooting over a few inches for him, she doesn't seem to mind the closeness.

He files that information away for later.

"Why would you want that in writing?" she asks belatedly.

"I don't know," he says with a shrug. "Could be fun to show Taub's wife though."

Her reply is quick. "Then you definitely can't have it."

House pouts dramatically. "What happened to the spirit of cooperation?"

"You asked if you _could_ have it in writing," she points out. "You left it open for me to say no. So I said no."

It's a mistake he decides to never make again.

Making sure there are no loopholes, House takes his time in figuring out what to say next. "Fine… But if I can't get it in writing, I think you owe me something else, don't you?"

There's caution and maybe a little venom in her voice when she says, "Yes."

"Well, since I won't get to have my fun screwing around with Taub's wife," he says slowly, drawling his words out for dramatic effect. In the most matter of fact voice, House finishes, "I think it's only fair that you –"

"I can't let you out of clinic duty," Cuddy interrupts before he has a chance to tell her what he wants. "We're understaffed as it is, and I _can't_ keep letting you –"

"That's not what I was going to say," House tells her, sounding slightly peeved.

"Oh." She sounds genuinely surprised by that. And he takes advantage of that moment, as he leans down over her, his arms coming to rest next to – but not touching – her hips. Bracing his upper body, House peers down at her.

They are so close now. With noses nearly touch, her breath tickling his lips – so close that he's sure he can see every emotion flitting through her body. Each feeling flashes across her eyes – surprise, discomfort, realization… tamped down _desire_.

In that particular moment, there's no doubt in his mind why he came here. Before it was little more than a half-formed idea niggling at his thoughts, but now he _knows_: _this_ is why he's here, to see that look in her face, to know that it's reflected in his own eyes.

It's not _love_, and he'll never _ever_ claim that it is.

They don't _love_ one another.

Because with Cuddy… theirs is an affection born out of regular hostility and conflict. Something more and less than friendship, more often than not they're fighting with one another – trying to outdo one another without committing homicide.

They have never chosen to be near each other because they _like_ one another. If anything, they're around each other _despite_ the fact that they drive each other crazy. And it might just be him, but House finds that… reassuring. Because it's _easy_ to be around someone you like – not so easy when the person makes you want to tear your hair out.

And for years now, they have both proved that they can stand being in the other's presence, which means a lot to him and he suspects to her as well. Because in a world where they both seem to always be on the outside, it's nice to have someone else around who understands.

But it's still not _love_, even if it is _so_ easy to end up in bed together. Even if it _is_ easy to cross that line into "lovers" territory… it's just as simple to jump back onto the other side of that line.

There are no consequences when they do this. Things are never awkward between them the day after (they're always too busy fighting over the medicine to think about what they did the night before). And of course, the chances of Cuddy getting pregnant are… _slim_, which she has probably lamented but he is grateful for anyway (at least when it involves _him_ being the potential father).

In all honesty, House is sure that there _are_ reasons to stop this from happening, but not being able to work together and getting her pregnant are his main concerns. And with those two things out of the way, he decides to take the risk.

Pushing them gently over the line once more, he kisses her. Lips pressed against lips, his stubble scratches against her smooth skin. The friction is nice, feels _right_, and if she minds it, Cuddy doesn't say anything.

Her lips willing part, her mouth open and welcoming – hopefully like the rest of her will be.

He pushes forward, tasting her and the remnants of minty toothpaste. His tongue moves in slow, tantalizing strokes – a whisper, a _hint_, of what he'll do if she lets him.

The offer has been made. And with one last forceful press of his lips, House pulls away and waits.

Cuddy remains quiet as she contemplates what he's silently asking for. And he can't help but evaluate her in the abnormally banter-free moment.

His eyes insistently look her over, try to assess what her answer will be. Her own eyes are a muted, calm blue, the desire so clear in the irises. The lips he has just kissed are slick, swollen, and her cheeks are beginning to flush. And as one of her hands tentatively wraps around one of his forearms, House knows what her answer is.

Her free hand carefully takes off her glasses and sets them aside on the nightstand. She shrugs slightly and tells him simply, "Yeah. Okay."

House smirks at the answer. "Be still my heart."

"Shut up." The two words are laced with annoyance. But even so, Cuddy still raises her upper body so that she can kiss him. Her lips brush against his softly, with a surprising amount of gentleness that completely contradicts the way she orders, "Take off your pants."

Instead, he pulls back and sits on the bed. His hand instinctively searches for the Vicodin bottle in his pocket. His thigh won't take kindly to what he's about to do no matter what. But if he can stave off the pain, dim it, even if only for a few hours, then that's better than nothing.

And for maybe the first time in her life, Cuddy is unconcerned for his pain. "_House_. Take off your pants," she repeats once more, with absolutely no kindness to the tones. Her voice is instead low and cool and yet still somehow tight with need and desire.

As he swallows a chalky pill, he tells her, "Calm down, Eager Beaver. You're gonna get laid."

She doesn't listen.

Sitting up on her knees, Cuddy reaches over to unzip his pants. "Do you have _any_ idea how long it's been?"

He's tempted to make a joke about Teddy Roosevelt or talkies or _something_. But really, the way her fingers are dancing around the beginnings of an erection makes that impossible. So he remains silent, smirks, and cruelly slaps her hand away.

Hands on her hips, Cuddy puts on her Dean of Medicine voice, one he's all too familiar with. Sounding so incredibly serious – more so now than when she's yelling at him for destroying hospital equipment, she orders, "Do _not_ tease me."

"What – no foreplay, snookums?" he asks tauntingly.

"_I_ want to get laid, asshole."

Plopping the Vicodin bottle down on the nightstand next to her glasses, House asks her, "You think I don't?"

They fall into silence, making him think for a brief instant that she's gonna throw him out. But all Cuddy says is, "You're right."

"I know," he tells her, sounding peeved. More brightly, he adds, "Hey, you think that this might be more fun when you just _agree_ that me being right is a _given_?"

She rolls her eyes. "Just so we're clear," Cuddy warns him. "You tell anyone about this – or you go _soft_ on me in the middle, I swear to you, House, I will make sure you _suffer_." Harshly, she starts to list off the possible punishments. "I'm talking lectures to students, work with the transplant committees, and _tons_ of hours in the –"

"Okay, so clearly I made a mistake in thinking a ball gag wasn't needed," he mutters just loudly and enunciated enough for her to hear.

Cuddy opens her mouth to yell, but House stops her before she can speak. Over her, he reminds her, "I thought you were going to agree with everything I said so I'd leave."

Almost viciously, she tells him, "The spirit of cooperation is dead."

They are very quickly crossing back over that line, he realizes. And if he doesn't stop this now, tonight's main event will be replaced by a loud, unproductive argument that _will_ interfere with their work tomorrow.

He has to stop this, even if part of him would rather poke the bear than give it honey.

"Aww, come on, Cuddy," he tells her as kindly as he can. "Giving me control could be kind of hot."

She calmly leans back against the headboard. Her lips turned downward into a frown, she says incredulously, "Uh huh."

Deciding to make the most of her current position, he curls his fingers around the clingy material of her tank top. Slowly, he rolls the shirt up; not too much – just an inch, a _sliver_, of her delicate, pale flesh is revealed. "Could be fun," he mumbles, leaning down and kissing her stomach softly.

Wet, his lips caress the area just below her belly button, his nose nuzzling against her skin. There's an uncharacteristic gentleness to it all, he realizes, but the bees have chased the bear away from the hive, and…

Screw it.

The metaphor is distracting him, and with renewed focus, he pays attention to what he's doing. His breath hot against her skin, House says, his eyes glancing upward to hers, "It'll be like 'Simon says.' Only with orgasms and _lots_ of nudity."

As he slowly lifts her shirt up another few inches, she lets out a ragged breath. And silently, she watches – he can _feel_ her watching him, as he begins to draw kisses along the flat plane of her stomach. His lips roaming over her well-defined muscles, Cuddy works hard to say, "I… can be the Simon."

Shaking his head, he lets his stubble rub against her creamy skin, streaking the normally alabaster flesh a light shade of pink. "But you _always_ get to be the Simon," he whines.

"Funny, I was about to say the same thing about _you_."

Part of him wants nothing more than to prove her wrong. And frankly, if he weren't so intent on getting laid, that's exactly what he _would_ be doing now; he would be telling her how she has always had control over him – always had the ability to demand tests and the right to fire him.

House _would_ be telling her those things. But then she might feel the need to further assert her authority, here _and_ at work, which he has no interest in. So instead, he moves his body downward a few inches, mindful of his thigh.

His fingers splay possessively across her hips as he tells her, "Okay, here's the thing. We can fight about this for the rest of the night – and then have a _very_ interesting week at work, consisting of arguments over the dumbest things, which will make us _both_ miserable."

One of his hands slowly begins to pull at the drawstring on her pants. The knot coming apart easily, House reminds her, "_Or _you can remember that you haven't gotten laid since Foreman was declared three-fifths of a person, and…"

Once again, he pauses dramatically, his index fingers tucking under the band of her sweatpants. A few millimeters at a time, he pulls the dark pants down every so slightly. The delicate edge of her hipbones bare, he goes no further. Finishing his sentence, House tells her quietly, "Give me what I want, so that you'll get what you want."

His hand slips into the crotch of her pants. Only duly noting the lack of underwear, he's more interested in how _wet_ she is. Her swollen lips easily part for him, as his thumb runs the distance of her slit. Doing this a few times, setting a slow rhythm, he knows that this has to be frustrating the hell out of Cuddy. Which makes him smile. Careful not to penetrate, nor spend too much time near her tight, aching nub, he has no doubt that she'll cave.

Her breathing becomes slightly labored at the contact, and she forces out, "_That's_ not what I want."

Without applying much pressure, House uses his thumb to circle around her clit. Slowly, he tells her, "Agree to do what I say, and you'll get what you want."

Teasingly he pulls his hand away and waits.

The look on her face in that moment is priceless. She's flushed with desire, lips pouting. Obviously annoyed, through gritted, Cuddy concedes. "_Fine._"

Sarcastically he responds, "_Wonderful_." All the time wasted for her to finally give in, House thinks mercilessly that he should make her _beg_ for it; he should taunt her until she's ready to do anything for it.

But having gone without sex for quite some time himself, he isn't exactly interested in drawing things out. So without much fuss, he wraps his fingers around the soft material of her pants and yanks hard. The cotton slides over her hips, slips down her thighs and knees. He leaves the clothing around her ankles, liking the way it makes her look. From his eyes, she looks like a completely wanton, _naughty_ plaything created just for him.

"House," Cuddy admonishes, interrupting his thoughts. Perhaps knowing that he likes the pants where they are, she kicks them off.

He frowns at the ruined image.

Using his thumb and index finger, he pinches her clit _hard_ in response. She gasps, pleased even though it _must_ hurt a little. Her back straightens immediately, as she lets out a breath of air in a hiss.

"Uh uh," he chides. "Only _I_ get to do the unwrapping."

As he eases his grip on her, she says with a smirk on her face, "You're acting like a child on Christmas opening all of his presents."

With a dramatic nod of the head, House tells her, "Mommy _did_ promise me a BB gun." His eyes raking over her half-naked form, sending a heated jolt straight to his dick, he asks playfully, "Now… _where_ could it be?"

He pretends to think about this for a minute, Cuddy's amused gaze intently focused on him.

"I know…" he mutters, his voice trailing off.

Eagerly, he slides two fingers inside her pussy. Her arousal is even more incredible to him from this angle, he thinks. Warmer, slicker, _tighter_ than he remembers, her cunt has only gotten better with age. "Celibacy suits you," he tells her seriously. "You're all nice and tight for _me_, aren't you?"

She doesn't answer the question.

In that moment, he can't help but inhale deeply to capture her heady scent that turns him on so much. Her musk sweet and spicy to his nose, he wants to savor this, wants to make sure that he remembers every last detail of tonight.

And that includes the feeling of her muscles clenching at him. Her velvety, wet grip tightening on his fingers, House can _barely_ contain himself. The need to fuck her, to feel her squeeze his cock _this_ tightly, is almost too much to ignore.

But taking a deep breath, he steels himself, wants to hold out just a little longer. So instead he wiggles his fingers around inside of her. "I'm sure it's in here," he murmurs, pretending to search for the BB gun. Purposely the pads of his fingers brush up, curve against that rough spot inside of her that he knows sets her off.

And true to form, Cuddy groans loudly, so close to coming.

But _he's_ not ready for that yet, so he pulls his fingers out leisurely, as though it's no big thing.

"No," Cuddy whines at the loss, which makes him smirk arrogantly.

Leaning down, he rests his chin on her bare mound. Gingerly, he kisses her there, once, and tells her almost innocently, "But I want my BB gun."

"Keep looking," she tells him annoyed, spreading her legs in invitation.

"_No._"

He's not going to do what she wants. And Cuddy easily figures this out, letting out a "Hmph." Glancing at her, he can tell that she's not pleased by this, can see that, even as she lets him do what he wants, she's secretly thinking of ways to kick his ass. Which he's not completely against, as long as her revenge comes in the form of sex.

Pushing the thought aside, House decides that he's going to toy with her a little more. Because if she's going to be pissed either way, he might as well enjoy this as much as he can.

Sitting up once more, House decides it's time for the full visual. Tugging at the tank top, he explains, "I doubt it's up here, but a man's gotta be thorough."

None too gently, House whips the top off, tossing it aside. Her breasts, as he imagined, spill out, jiggle a little from the motion of him pulling at the shirt. But unlike the picture he had in his head, Cuddy's boobs are… absolutely _perfect. _

His memories of her naked body have clearly _not_ done her justice; age, on the other hand, decidedly has. Very little has changed – her skin is still smooth, still an unblemished creamy color. Her nipples are still that perfect rosy shade of pink, _still_ get hard, it seems, at just the _idea_ of him touching her.

Looking at her now, he feels as though he's still seeing the arrogant twenty-something he knew then. That she _isn't_ is a _massive_ turn-on. So much more flawed, so much more vulnerable – she's definitely more appealing to him as she is now.

And what other changes have been made to her body he _likes_. Cuddy's breasts still firm, there is only a very slight sag to them, which actually makes them _nicer_ to his mind. All shiny and new, her tits were at one point so perky that they looked _fake_. But now, her boobs much like a pair of jeans made more comfortable by wear, _yeah_, he likes what age has done to her.

Still not too big but definitely _not_ too small, Cuddy's breasts are… _perfect_, and House is in awe.

If the funbags are the result of good genes or strenuous exercise, he doesn't know. And for the first time in a long time, the _why_ doesn't interest him – at all.

All he can do is sit on the bed and stare appreciatively.

Blinking a few times to make sure the moment is real, House lets out a rush of air.

"You like?" Cuddy asks in a voice that sounds _extremely_ pleased by his reaction.

He blinks again. "Oh yeah," he tells her earnestly.

And it's then that he realizes… he doesn't really have any control over this situation. Because while he's tempted to draw this whole thing out, he finds himself completely unable to do so. Lying on the bed, Cuddy is letting him do what he wants _in theory_. But the reality is all he can think about now is her perfect body and how much he wants her.

Oh well, he thinks, brushing the thought aside.

Leaning forward, House palms one of her breasts. Against the roughness of his fingertips, her skin is even softer than he remembered. Cuddy's nipple tickles the inside of his hand, and he squeezes the funbag, relishing the warmth and weight to it.

Not wanting the other breast to feel left out, House leans over and kisses it. Lightly doing so, his lips and tongue inch their way to her tight nipple. At first, he licks over the hard bud, uses the flat of his tongue to tease her.

It works, he realizes, as Cuddy whines, "House… please." One of her hand falls over his, urges him to grope harder. Their fingers entwined together, they both squeeze her breast.

Her free hand in his hair, she grips the strands and uses it to force his head onto her nipple. She's not too kind about it, her grasp a little too strong to be comfortable. But House doesn't complain. Couldn't even if he wanted to, as he sucks the tight bud into his mouth. Teeth and lips tugging, he can feel her nipple become even harder as he works it over.

Cuddy doesn't say anything, but he's sure that she approves; her hands letting go of him, she reaches down and blindly grabs his shirt. As she pulls it off, forcing him to let her nipple slide out of his mouth, he remembers what he told her: he wanted to be the one to do all the unwrapping. But at the moment, he is too horny to quibble over the details.

In all honesty, House doesn't think age was as kind to him as it was to her. His muscles not so well defined anymore, his chest hair dusted with gray, he _definitely_ doesn't look the same, much less any better.

But if Cuddy agrees with him, she never lets on. Sitting up once more, she presses her lips to his chest; he can feel her smile against his skin. "I didn't remember you looking so…" She struggles to find the words she wants.

He offers, "Old?"

She hums out a "No" and kisses him hard on the mouth. One of her hands running along his bare back, Cuddy finishes, "_Good_. I didn't remember that."

He nips lightly on her lower lip, his fingers brushing against her clit. The light touch makes her moan, which makes his pants feel entirely too tight.

Pointedly, House reminds her, "Makes sense – you drank all the Jäger they had."

He goes to kiss her again, but she turns her head away. The rejection is okay, however; he knows how to be resourceful, deciding to plant kisses along her neck and shoulder instead. "I had, _maybe,_ three beers. I don't remember any Jäger."

"Of course you don't remember it," he tells her, biting down on her collarbone. "After, I don't know, _five_ beers, I needed to make sure you'd be in a nice boozy haze so I could bed you."

The words are said in jest, but seconds later, he can see her frowning. Her silence piquing his curiosity, he looks at her carefully and notes the sadness in her eyes.

For a second, he worries that she's mad. But instead Cuddy cups his chin with her hands. Quietly, almost reassuringly, she points out, "You're bedding me now, and I'm completely sober."

Relieved that she isn't pissed, he rewardingly slides a finger into her slick heat. The finger starting a slow rhythm inside of her, House counters, "You must have had _something_ with dinner."

"Two glasses of wine to try and drown the pain of listening to him take credit for the last two cases you solved." Closing her eyes briefly to enjoy what he's doing, she adds as an afterthought, "But I'm _not_ drunk."

"Don't care if you are" is his glib response, although, in truth, if she were drunk then or is now, he _would_ care.

"Well, I'm _not_," she argues back, her nails scraping none too kindly along his back.

"Good. Cause I'm gonna fuck you anyway. I just _really_ don't want your vomit in my mouth, you know?" He tweaks one of her nipples hard in retaliation.

Roughly trying to undo his fly, Cuddy snaps, "Wouldn't dream of doing that."

"Good," House repeats. Slapping her hands away, he works as fast as he can to pull his jeans and underwear off. Now naked, in the back of his mind, House thinks he should be self-conscious about the state of his thigh. And truthfully, he might have been under other circumstances.

But as it is, she's seen it before, and he's way too interested in ramming his dick into her to care all that much.

His pants fall to the floor, though neither adult notices.

And crawling his way back up to her, House aligns their bodies just right. As he does so, he hazards a glance at Cuddy, who is watching him, visibly looking as though she's wishing he would hurry up.

So he takes his time.

Slowly spreading her legs apart, he positions himself between her. "I know this is your first time and all, Cuddy," he jokes. "But –"

Almost angrily, she tells him, "House, if you don't stick it–"

House thrusts forward, her body instantly tightening – and mouth thankfully shutting – at the sudden intrusion. His own groan being muffled by the sound of her cry, he instantly recognizes that no memory has or will be able to capture the sweetness of _this_, of the feel of _her_ surrounding _him_.

For a minute, he doesn't dare move, afraid that if he does, it'll be over too soon. Focusing on his breathing, House tries to concentrate on the way the oxygen feels in his lungs – and absolutely tries to _avoid_ thinking about how wonderful Cuddy feels.

But she makes that impossible to do when she whispers, out of breath, "God, you're bigger than I –"

"Stop talking," he tells her, his voice sounding almost desperate. "Unless you want me to blow my wad right now, cause I swear –"

Honestly, Cuddy interrupts, "No, you're right." And surprisingly enough, she _does_ go quiet. Words going unsaid, she wraps an arm around his shoulder. Their eyes meeting in the silence, he's glad that she doesn't look impatient, takes it as a sign that she's not _merely_ waiting for him to start.

Not that she has to wait long if that _is_ the case. Because only seconds later, House murmurs, "I gotta move."

They fumble to find a rhythm at first, their movements oddly timed. Her hips counteracting his thrusts just a little too quickly, it's frustrating. Knowing that they are _so close_ to it being amazing sex, and finally, House grabs her waist and forces her to stop.

She frowns, knows that things are off between them. And worried that she'll start to feel bad and _quit_ on him, he captures her mouth with his lips. A hand pinching one of her nipples, he hopes his tongue and fingers are enough to keep her in the mood.

It is. And this time when they start moving again, their rhythm is perfect. His thrusts quicker, hers slower, now everything seems to work. The timing just right, each plunge into her body fills them both with pleasure.

"Hmm, _much_ better," Cuddy nearly purrs, moving her legs close together to embrace his body.

They fall into silence then, words no longer needed. It is, without any doubt, the quietest the two have been in each other's presence in a _long_ time. And even then, they aren't particularlynoise free. They're both panting, both fighting to keep breathing, despite the amazing friction and jolts of pleasure they're feeling.

Raggedly exhaling, House rests his weight on his forearms. At the moment, he's not concerned about his thigh, is too interested in the other things he's feeling to give it too much consideration.

Thrusting into her over and over, he closes his eyes and listens to the sounds they're making. With each breath she takes, he can hear the smallest whimper escape her throat. The noise so slight, it's almost completely enveloped by the slick sounds of his cock sliding in and out of her. His balls slapping against her, he picks up the pace, their collective noises ratcheting his desire up another notch.

Leaning in close to her, House wants to savor every little noise she makes. He rests his sweaty forehead against hers, the salty liquid dripping onto her body. She doesn't seem to notice, as she cranes her head to kiss him.

Their lips only briefly meeting, they pull apart almost as soon as they connect to catch their breath. Blue eyes meeting blue eyes, she whispers desperately, "Don't stop."

"Wasn't gonna," House grits out.

Her hands grab at his ass, fingernails digging into each globe, as she tries to pull him into her even further. "_So _close," Cuddy tells him, her voice deep and low with desire. "Harder." Doing all he can to please her, he shoves himself into her forcefully, making her moan.

His gaze traveling downward, House is mesmerized by his line of sight. Cuddy's breasts swaying from his force makes his balls tighten, but it's the image further down that threatens to undo him. Even in the dim lighting between their bodies, he can make out the sight of his prick, wet because of _her_, sliding in and out. Fixated, he watches as their bodies meet, come together only to part within seconds.

Cuddy's hands pulling at him roughly, he slams into her. And it's all over for him, the edge too close for him to pull back. He comes, the pleasure hitting him in wave after wave, the sudden jerk tipping Cuddy over the edge as well. She tightens her grip on him, clinging to him as they ride the waves out together.

He doesn't dare move, as he slowly comes down from the natural high. Doesn't trust his thigh at the moment, and certainly House isn't ready for the moment to be over. Gently lowering his body on top of hers, he tries his best not to hurt her; after all, suffocation isn't exactly how he planned on ending the evening.

But Cuddy doesn't seem to mind. All she does is brush his sweaty hair back off of his forehead and reach for the Vicodin bottle he placed on the nightstand.

When she hands it to him, he's grateful – even as part of him resents it. Taking the prescription, he rolls off of her and away from her. It's not that he's… _ashamed_ of needing it; House will never care if she sees this part of him.

What he _does_ hate, however, is reality rushing back to him once more. The pain in his leg quickly creeping up on him, he doesn't mind if she sees, but he _does_ mind the incurable ache – _absolutely_ minds that it's never far from him.

Resting his back against the headboard, he pops a pill into his mouth. And needing to distract himself from the situation, he turns his head towards her and asks, "So what did happen between you and Clouseau?"

Cuddy rolls her eyes, moving her body up the bed so that she too is resting against the headboard. "I told you. He was trying to take credit for –"

"My cases," House finishes for her, disbelief rounding out both words. Tossing the bottle onto the floor next to him, he asks, "Since when do you care –"

"I don't care because it concerns _you_," she tells him irritably. More calmly, Cuddy tries to explain. "I just think… that someone who essentially breaks into people's homes for a living shouldn't be so… self-righteous."

Nodding his head in agreement, he agrees. "Clearly he was missing his target by trying to prove to you how _nice_ he is."

Cuddy's pulling the sheets to the bed up around them as he says this. And she's obviously curious by his words, because she pauses, the comforter in her hands when he finishes. "I know you _think_ I like dating jerks, but–"

With a smile on his face, he points out, "But look who got laid just now."

She scowls. "We had _sex_. That doesn't mean I want to date you."

"Good," he replies seriously. "Because I'm really starting to like this whole thing." Getting comfortable on his side of the bed, House says, gesturing with his hands, "The other guy takes you out, feeds you, gets you all sexually frustrated, and then brings you home to me." He nods his head up and down. "I like it."

The comment makes Cuddy laugh, her chuckle sounding loud in the silent house.

Long after the conversation over, long after she falls asleep, he lays next to her, thinking of that particular sound. The noise echoing in the still night air, not even the Vicodin can quell the feeling that just _maybe_ he likes making her happy.

_The End_


End file.
